


Inception Bits and Pieces

by NeonPistachio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Assorted one-shots, unrelated and a bit short to post on their own.





	1. A Not-So-Shared Parlance

**Author's Note:**

> These are a few shorter stories, complete in themselves and with no plans to write anything longer. I have many, many longer fics that may or may not see the light of day, and hopefully posting these mini ones will mean I can stop hopping from fic to fic and actually finish a longer one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship.

‘No,’ Arthur says firmly, pushing Eames over. ‘I’ll be the big spoon.’

‘Alright darling,’ Eames says agreeably, and wraps Arthur's arm snugly around himself. ‘This alright?’

‘Fine,’ Arthur replies abruptly, after a second’s pause. Eames wonders if he’s going to say anything else, but Arthur stays silent and Eames falls asleep quickly.

*

‘I think I fancy Korean of dinner. Would that suit you?’ Eames asks. He’s been thinking about it all day, and he’s asking more for form’s sake than anything else; Arthur loves Korean.

‘Actually, I’d prefer to go for steak.’ Arthur doesn’t even look up from him magazine. ‘What do you think?’

Eames grimaces. He’s not in the mood for steak. He doesn’t even particularly _like_ steak. But if Arthur’s made up his mind…

‘Jolly good, darling. When shall we leave?’ 

Arthur still doesn’t look up, but Eames thinks he’s frowning a little. ‘Seven. Wear a tie.’

Eames doesn’t frown like he wants to. Instead he turns away to go and dig out something Arthur would consider appropriate.

*

‘God, Eames, that jacket is horrible,’ Arthur says, face scrunched up in distaste. 

Eames looks at the sports jacket he was just about to put on. It’s new, it was expensive, it was even made by an actual tailor and Eames is very pleased with how it shows off his shoulders. He thought Arthur would like it. 

‘Yes, maybe it is a bit much,’ he agrees, and tosses it back onto the bed. He pulls a different jacket out of the wardrobe, one Arthur has looked at admiringly, putting it on instead. He turns back to find Arthur looking at the jacket on the bed with an expression Eames would describe as disappointed if he didn’t know better. ‘Shall we go then? The job waits for no man.’

Arthur nods and walks out of the bedroom. His shoulders look a little tight, Eames thinks.

*

‘There’s a job in Dar es Salaam next month. The extractor was looking for a forger and a point, so I signed us up,’ Arthur tells him over lunch. 

Eames nods, mouth full. ‘Sounds good. Who’s the extractor?’

‘Madinsky,’ Arthur replies, and Eames stops eating. ‘Is that a problem?’

Eames forces himself to take another bite of his sandwich and chew normally. Sodding _Madinsky_. If there’s one person in dreamshare Eames can’t stand, it’s bloody Madinsky. After the last job, he swore never to work with him again. 

‘No problem,’ he tells Arthur calmly. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

Arthur pushes his plate away. ‘I think I’m full.’

*

‘I’m going out tonight,’ Arthur tells him.

Eames looks up from his sketchbook. ‘Alright love, where are we going?’

Arthur shakes his head. ‘I’m going to get a drink with Francis. You’d be better staying here.’

Eames frowns. Francis is one of Arthur's ex’s, and has made no secret of the fact that he thinks he’s better for Arthur than Eames could ever be and that he wants Arthur back. Every time Francis makes some sly allusion to the history between himself and Arthur, Eames wants to break his fingers. He also _touches_ Arthur, and Eames has to grit his teeth and pretend it doesn’t bother him. _Stay here with me,_ he wants to tell Arthur. _Stay here and we can watch one of your ridiculous horror films and cuddle on the couch. I even bought you pistachio ice cream._

‘Ok darling,’ he says, going back to his sketch. ‘Have a good night.’

*

Eames makes himself a mug of tea and goes to bed with his kindle. Arthur probably won’t be back for a while. _Francis_ will make sure of that.

He’s surprised out of his ebook by the sound of a scratching at the front door. It sounds like someone trying (badly) to pick the lock.

Getting out of bed silently, Eames grabs his gun from the nightstand and makes his way towards the living room. The front door swings open as he reaches the bedroom door, then slams again. It’s probably not a burglar or an assassin, Eames concludes.

He’s right. When he enters the living room, gun tucked into the back of his pyjama trousers, Arthur is slumped on the couch. Eames doesn’t think he’s seen Arthur look so defeated since Mal’s funeral. ‘Arthur? What’s wrong?’

Arthur rolls his head to look at Eames, and bloody hell, Arthur is _drunk._ Eames can tell he’s having trouble focussing, and his suit is crumpled, waistcoat draped open and what looks to be a red wine stain on his shirt. 

Arthur sits on the couch and looks at him. Woebegone is the correct description for that look.  
‘Love? What happened?’  
Arthur sniffs miserably. ‘You don’t love me.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Eames can’t believe he’s hearing this. How can Arthur think Eames doesn’t love him? Eames has bent over backwards to show Arthur how much he loves him.

‘You don’t love me,’ Arthur continues doggedly. ‘You don’t argue and you don’t care and you don’t love me.’ He sniffs again, and for a horrible moment Eames thinks he’s going to start crying. 

Instead, Arthur flops sideways onto the couch, pulling his legs up and curling into a ball. He looks pathetic, and Eames is torn between exasperation and adoration.

‘ _Why_ do you think I don’t love you?’ Eames tries not to sound too put out.

‘I just said!’ Arthur says, but due to his face being buried in the couch cushions, it comes out more than a little indistinct. Eames reaches out and rolls Arthur's head slightly so he can speak more clearly. ‘You don’t argue with me about anything any more. You don’t care if I go out with fucking Francis and I signed you up for a job with Matinsky and you didn’t say anything and you’re going to leave me.’

Eames crouches down beside the couch and runs a hand through Arthur's hair. ‘Oh darling. You’ve got yourself into a bit of a state, haven’t you?’ Arthur just sniffs again in reply and pushes his head into Eames’s stroking hand. 

‘I’m not going to leave you,’ he tells Arthur, and Arthur looks at him with big eyes, and fuck, can he actually look more miserable?

‘You never argue with me,’ Arthur tells him again as Eames helps him to bed. ‘I always say something and you just go along with it and I sound like an asshole. I don’t want to be an asshole to you,’ he says seriously as Eames deposits him onto the bed and helps him with his shoes. 

‘And I don’t want to be an arsehole to you by arguing all the time,’ Eames tells him, unbuckling his belt.  
‘But we _do_ argue,’ Arthur half wails. ‘That’s a thing we do, and we always do it, and now you won’t any more.’

Eames looks at his boyfriend, drunk and miserable on their bed. ‘I think, darling, we’re talking at cross purposes here.’ Arthur nods in agreement, head sliding gently to the side. ‘I also think,’ Eames continues, ‘that this is something we should discuss in the morning.’

Arthur snores in reply.

*

In the morning, Eames makes Arthur coffee and toast and Arthur, who is a freakish being who doesn’t get hangovers, eats them very seriously while listening to Eames.

‘If I understood your drunken wailing last night correctly,’ Eames begins, and Arthur glares at him a little but doesn’t interrupt, ‘you think that if we’re not arguing then we’re not invested in this. And I think, from my understanding of human nature, that couples can communicate in ways other than arguing, and that relationships involve compromise. Stop me if you don’t recognise any of these words,’ Eames says sweetly, and Arthur scowls at him.

‘Fuck you, I can compromise. But you never tell me what you want or fight for things you care about. It’s like the moment we got together you checked out of any decisions involving the two of us. You just go along with whatever I say, even if it’s something you hate.’

‘Hang on,’ Eames says suspiciously, ‘did you agree to the job with Matinsky to see if I’d argue?’

‘Of course I did,’ Arthur tells him impatiently, rolling his eyes. ‘I know how much you hate Matinsky. When you told me it was fine, I half expected to find you gone when I came home last night.’

‘Arthur,’ Eames says, honestly shocked. ‘I would never!’

Arthur looks down at his coffee. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t,’ he says quietly. ‘I hoped you’d be jealous over me going out with Francis, or say I should stay home and we could do something together instead,’ and Eames could kick himself for not suggesting the film last night, ‘but you didn’t, you just carried on doing your own thing. Like you didn’t care,’ Arthur finishes as quietly as he began, still looking at his coffee mug.

Eames reaches across the table and pulls one of Arthur's hands off the mug, clasping it between his own. ‘Arthur, darling, I don’t want to ever be the kind of boyfriend who refuses to let you see your friends or dictates everything you do.’ He’s horrified by the mere thought.

Arthur looks at him. ‘But if you never have an opinion, then you make me that person by default.’ And Eames can see where he’s coming from.

‘Arthur,’ he says, keeping hold of Arthur’s hand and making sure Arthur is still looking at him. ‘I’m sorry for making you think I’m not invested in this relationship, and I promise to let you know what I want next time. I just didn’t want to drive you away by being unreasonable.’

Arthur grips his hand more securely. ‘Eames, I’ve been in love with you since the second job we ever worked together. If I’ve managed all that time, through all your ridiculousness and the time you had a moustache, I don’t think a few demands are going to stop me.’

‘The moustache was for a disguise,’ Eames protests, but stands up to walk around the table and pull Arthur into a hug. ‘I’m not going anywhere either,’ he murmurs into Arthur’s ear, leaning his chin on Arthur's shoulder and kissing his cheek. ‘Even if you do make me work with Matinsky.’

‘Fuck that,’ Arthur tells him. ‘I hate Matinsky almost as much as you do. I’ll tell him we can’t do it.’

‘I love you,’ Eames replies. ‘I love you whether or not we work with Matinsky.’

Arthur leans back into Eames’s hug. ‘I love you too. And I love your thoughts and I love arguing with you about them, but if you want to try and argue less, I can do that.’ And Eames kisses his cheek again in response.

‘Right then,’ he says, pulling back. ‘In that case, I’ve got some ideas for the day...’


	2. The Food of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting together through the medium of music.

Eames thinks Arthur’s taste in music is pretentious.

Arthur thinks Eames’s taste in music is appallingly British.

*

Lighting Seeds – Marvellous

‘That’s not funny,’ Arthur snaps at him, climbing out of the chair and pulling off the headphones. ‘And you put it on too early.’

Despite his words, Eames can see Arthur’s valiant attempt to control his dimples, so all he says is ‘If I’d put it on any later, it wouldn’t have got to the good bit.’

Arthur ducks away, scowling, but Eames knows he’s trying very hard not to smile. 

Ariadne fistbumps him. ‘Lighting Seeds, good choice.’

*

‘Really not funny?’ Eames asks as they pack up for the day.

‘Maybe a little funny,’ Arthur allows, and finally shows his dimples. 

Eames’s heart gives an extra thump a the sight.

*

Mozart – Queen of the Night’s aria, The Magic Flute

‘Darling, you gave me the fright of my life with that one,’ Eames tells Arthur reproachfully. 

Arthur smirks at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Eames, if your subconscious finds the introduction of culture a little shocking. And I put it to the good bit specially.’

‘Culture is one thing, but suddenly hearing some lady wailing in German nearly caused me to collapse the dream. The projections were _not_ happy.’

Ariadne nods. ‘Yeah, Arthur, that one wasn’t one of your better choices. Maybe something a bit more mellow? Try Mozart.’

Arthur snorts.

*

Later, Eames leans casually over Arthur’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll educate our young Ariadne on the finer points of Herr Mozart’s work. I won’t make her endure your pained looks.’

Arthur doesn’t look up from his laptop. ‘I appreciate your sacrifice, Mr Eames,’ is all he says, but Eames can hear the smile beneath his dry tone. Eames stares at the back of Arthur’s neck where it emerges from the edge of his collar, and gives thanks that the privacy screen on Arthur’s laptop means no one can see the slightly besotted look he’s giving Arthur.

*

Gilbert and Sullivan – Model of a Modern Major General

‘No.’ Arthur glares at Eames. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘But darling,’ Eames tries, widening his eyes appealingly. ‘I thought you’d appreciate it. It is opera, after all.’

‘It’s operetta,’ Arthur hisses, ‘and that is a very different thing.’

Eames catches him humming the tune later. By the murderous expression on Arthur’s face, he doesn’t find it as amusing as Eames. __

 _‘You are the very model of a modern Major General,’_ Eames sings quietly, and Arthur shoots him a death glare. 

‘Neither of us ever made it to that rank, so it doesn’t apply.’

Eames shrugs. ‘I’m sure if you’d stayed in the army, you would have absolutely been the model of a modern Major General.’

Arthur snorts. ‘And I’m sure you would have been kicked out for conduct unbecoming.’

Eames grins. ‘Darling, you say the sweetest things.’

*

The Clash – The Card Cheat

‘A bit of a cliché, don’t you think?’ Eames sniffs, and Arthur raises an eyebrow. 

‘You didn’t appreciate it?’

‘I’m not saying that,’ Eames says begrudgingly, ‘but really, darling, you can’t think of another British band?’

‘Ignore him,’ Ariadne puts in. ‘Feel free to play classic punk anytime.’

Eames pouts. ‘At least you didn’t go for London Calling. That really would have been a cliché.’

Arthur gives him an indecipherable look. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Eames, I chose that song very specifically with you in mind.

Curiosity prompts Eames to google the lyrics when he gets back to his hotel. Was it just the title that Arthur was referring to, or something more? He texts Arthur.

_I’m happy to be the card up your sleeve whenever you like, darling_

Arthur doesn’t text back, and Eames consoles himself with the thought that at least he didn’t receive _it means nothing_ in reply, which would be both unhelpful and more than a little disappointing. 

*

The Smiths – This Charming Man

‘Don’t speak to me,’ Arthur hisses, and Eames takes it that any liking Arthur has for classic British bands doesn’t extend this far.

‘Sorry darling,’ he says, chastised, and Arthur glares at him for speaking, then stalks off.

‘I liked it,’ Ariadne says consolingly. 

*

Eames doesn’t try to speak to Arthur for the rest of the day. The angry typing is more than a little off-putting, but it’s more that he doesn’t want to irritate Arthur any further. It’s disappointing; he’s though that was a good choice but he obviously miscalculated.

_Sorry_ he texts later, when he’s back in his hotel. He falls asleep to no reply, but when he wakes there’s a text from Arthur.

_Last chance, Mr Eames._

Eames doesn’t know whether it means the fact that the job finishes in two days or something more.

He doesn’t want to find out by getting it wrong.

*

‘This one,’ Eames tells Ariadne. ‘You know when?’

Ariadne nods, and Eames joins Arthur in positioning the mark next to the PASIV. ‘Ready?’

‘Always, Mr Eames,’ Arthur says, not looking up from double-checking the PASIV lines.

‘On your mark then, Arthur.’ Eames settles back onto his chair and inserts the needle. Arthur does the same, counts down, and they’re in the dream.

*

When they surface, Eames holds his breath but Arthur doesn’t say anything, focusing on getting the PASIV packed up as quickly as possible. Eames follows suite, wiping down surfaces and keeping an eye on the mark. They’re out before she even begins to stir.

On the street, Arthur still doesn’t say anything, and Eames’s stomach sinks. Arthur doesn’t even look back, climbing into a cab with the PASIV as Ariadne heads off towards the subway. 

Eames stands on the pavement for a few more seconds. He got it wrong. He’s still not entirely sure what it was, but he got it wrong. He took a gamble on what he hoped it was and chose accordingly, but he chose wrong. 

He flags down his own taxi and gives the address for his hotel.

*

His bag is sitting where he left it on the bed. Eames does a customary sweep for anything left behind then grabs it. As he does, there’s a knock at the door.

Eames swallows, tries not to get his hopes up. It’s probably housekeeping. Still, his heart is pounding as he opens the door.

Arthur is on the other side.

‘I got your message,’ Arthur says, when Eames doesn’t say anything. 

Eames still can’t speak, but he holds the door open wider and Arthur brushes past him into the room. Standing there, suit and hair as pristine as ever, Arthur looks untouchable. Eames closes the door and tries to gather his thoughts. He more than half expected this wouldn’t happen.

‘Well?’ Arthur asks when Eames still doesn’t say anything.

‘The Smiths were a mistake,’ Eames blurts. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

‘Is that all?’

‘No.’ Eames takes a breath, tries to sort out his words. ‘I didn’t realise what was going on and I just picked that one because it was British and I thought it sounded a bit like you.’

Arthur looks amused. ‘It sounds more like you.’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t like The Smiths, Eames. There’s no deep spiritual meaning I object to.’

‘Oh.’ Eames deflates. So he was reading too much into it.

‘Is that all then?’ Arthur looks as neutral as ever, but Eames thinks he can see a hint of disappointment there. Maybe he just hopes he does, but Eames decides to go for it anyway.

‘No. I didn’t have any real meaning with The Smiths, but I chose the last one carefully.’

‘And your meaning was?’ Arthur looks like he’s poised for flight, and Eames has just one chance to get it right.

‘I love you. I wanted you the first time I saw you and I haven’t stopped since. I’ve tried to find someone else but it never works. You’re the one, Arthur, and maybe it won’t work but I want to try,’ Eames winds down. ‘I love you,’ he finishes, just to make sure the point is made.

Arthur looks at him searchingly for a minute that seems to stretch to eternity. Eames can’t breath as he waits. Then Arthur smiles, smiles fully with both dimples on display, and Eames lets out a shaky breath in relief. ‘We’ll be just fine,’ Arthur says. ‘It might not have been ten years, but I think we’ll still be happy.’

Eames laughs in relief. ‘I didn’t take you for a Pink fan.’

‘I googled the song on the way over,’ Arthur admits.

‘So I got it right then?’ Eames asks, moving closer to Arthur.

‘More or less,’ Arthur says. ‘You don’t annoy me any more, so I hope I don’t bore you.’ He moves closer until he’s all but pressing against Eames, less than an inch separating them.

Eames catches hold of Arthur's hand and draws it up between their bodies, bringing it to his lips and kissing Arthur’s knuckles where the scars still lie from their first meeting. ‘Never,’ he declares. 

‘Good,’ Arthur replies. ‘Because it’s always been me and you.’ He pulls his hand from Eames’s grasp and curls it into Eames’s hair. ‘I love you, Eames.’

Eames closes the last inch between them, touching his lips to Arthur’s for this first time. ‘I love you too, Arthur.’

Last song: Is This Thing On? - Pink


	3. Suspect Beginnings

Arthur’s family is more than a little unusual. He grew up with a variety of maxims to remember. Things like _Shades only haunt those who want them._ Things like _Silver for safe, Bronze for sure, Iron for certain._ Things like _Light doesn’t lie._

Arthur is a good son, for all that he conducts mind heists. That’s actually not the worst career a member of his immediate family has. He has an aunt who works for the IRS, and she’s still welcome at family get-togethers. She has a wicked hand with a machete, though, which makes up for a lot of sins. 

Arthur’s sister is a director in a community theatre. That isn’t a problem. The fact that she refuses to salt the entrances is. Her maxim, she told Arthur once, is _Butts on seats above all else._

Because Arthur is a good son and a naturally cautious person (mind heists aside), he uses bullets with layers of electroplated silver, bronze and iron. He sets lights up near any entrances, salting them first of course. He uses his eyes, he keeps a knife on him at all times, and he remembers the maxims. 

*

Cobb has a Shade of Mal in his dreams. Arthur knows that unless something changes she’ll start showing up in other places. First Cobb’s eyes, then his shadow, then… Well, Arthur won’t let it get to that stage.

It’s why he agrees to the inception job. Maybe Saito really can get Dom back to his kids, and Arthur’s sure that being back with his family in real life will be the trigger Dom needs to let go of Mal. But he’ll get someone to keep an eye on him anyway.

So he reluctantly agrees and begins setting up the warehouse, running the preliminary background checks, all the things that go into being a point while he waits for the rest of the team to arrive.

Arthur always watches new teammates carefully for the first few days. If he’s going to trust them (in a limited capacity, at least) to have his back, he wants to make sure their shadows are in the right place first. Ariadne is fine, and he walks with her through the lights of Paris in day, night and dreams to be sure. There’s something in the way Yusuf watches everyone that makes Arthur think he knows what Arthur’s checking for. It’s a little reassuring to have someone else there who’ll be looking for the same things. Saito is fine too, though Arthur has a feeling there may be something in his past that is less than clean. At the moment though, he passes Arthur's tests. Arthur wishes he could do a personal assessment of Fischer, but a called in favour will have to do.

Eames is something else though. Arthur hasn’t worked with him very often but there’s something about him that pings Arthur’s radar. One or two jobs he’s been scheduled to work with Eames have had a last minute line up change when the forger has pulled out. They’ve always been jobs in countries with bright sunshine. True, Eames isn’t the only person to pull out of jobs so it’s not conclusive, but it is suspicious.

Eames shows up late, having elected to go straight from Mombasa to Australia. When he does arrive Arthur curses the warehouse Dom chose and its terrible lighting. He can’t get a good impression, and Eames always disappears before it gets dark and stays inside on sunlit days.

There’s definitely something going on there.

*

Arthur avoids going into any dream where Eames is the dreamer. He’s not doing it for the job itself, and to be honest, it’s more likely that Dom’s Shade will cause trouble than whatever’s in Eames’s subconscious, but it never hurts to be careful. He’s not worried about the others; if Eames’s subconscious was going to be dangerous to everyone working with him he wouldn’t have lasted long in dreamshare. The chances are that there’s nothing there, but he could react to Arthur in unexpected ways. 

Yusuf might know something, but Arthur is pretty sure he’ll side with Eames before giving Arthur any information. That in itself is a good sign – if Eames is dangerous, Yusuf would probably steer clear. 

Eames is a mystery Arthur can’t leave alone but can’t solve either, so he keeps an eye on him but doesn’t engage.

*

When the plane touches down in LAX and everyone disembarks with more or less the same level of sanity they got on board with Arthur breaths a quiet sigh of relief, though the true test will be whether or not Dom can make it through customs. When that part goes smoothly too, Arthur watches him leave with a bit of sadness and a lot of relief. He collects his bags and heads off to his hotel, trying to decide who in LA he can call on to keep an eye on Dom. 

He doesn’t think of Eames for a minute.

*

The hotel is one he’s stayed in before, and once he’s salted the door and windows and rearranged the lamps, he feels secure enough to peel off his unpleasantly crumpled suit and have a shower. The sticky feeling of sitting too long in an aeroplane washes down the drain with the last of his anxiety over Dom. From here on out Dom is his friend, not his responsibility.

He shaves, takes out his contacts and debates eating or sleeping first as he leaves the bathroom.  
Eames is sitting on the bed, gun resting casually on his knee. 

Instinctively, Arthur puts his hand to where his own gun would be were he not in a towel and his gun not locked in the safe. His knife is on the bed beside Eames.

He unconsciously squares his shoulders, and Eames quirks an unfriendly half smile. ‘I thought we should have a chat,’ Eames tells him casually.

‘About?’ Arthur asks, voice even. 

‘Let’s call it job performance.’ 

‘I don’t have any problems with your job performance,’ Arthur tells him. 

‘I wasn’t talking about my job performance. And I wasn’t taking about that job.’ Eames’s hand doesn’t move towards the gun, but it doesn’t move away either. Arthur doesn’t say anything.

‘You’ve been watching me,’ Eames says evenly. ‘I want to know why.’

Arthur decides to go with honesty and shrugs. ‘I can’t get a read on you. You’re not a demon because you got past the salt. You’re not part of a low choir because I’ve seen you handling silver, and you’re too human-like to be high choir. I can’t see any evidence of a Shade, but you avoid light so I can’t get any more than that. I just want to know what to expect.’

Eames is silent again, and Arthur thinks he’s weighing his reply. ‘Where’s your gun?’ he asks Arthur eventually.

Arthur debates whether or not to tell him, then decides there’s no point lying. ‘In the safe.’ He does have another knife in his washkit, but it’s silver so it won’t do much. 

Eames thinks again, then surprises Arthur by standing and walking to one of the lamps, positioning himself so the light casts a clear shadow. ‘Does this help?’ he asks.

Arthur nods, throat a little dry. Eames, standing where he is, should cast the shadow of a broad-shouldered man onto the carpet. He has a shadow, which is a good sign, and it’s neither worryingly light nor dangerously dark, but it’s not a shadow of a man. It’s not a human shadow at all; just a dark shape, a horizontal length where the light doesn’t fall. Eames twists slightly, but there’s no difference to the shape until he moves from side to side and it sways with his movements. _Properly attached,_ part of Arthur registers by rote.

‘You’re a mimic.’ Arthur is a little dumbstruck, though he guesses it makes sense. He’s only met a few mimics in his time and mostly they’re hardly human at all; mismatched collections of features and mannerisms that shift from minute to minute.

‘Quarter mimic, actually. I have the shadow and I can change but I can’t hold it for long.’ Eames sounds defensive, though whether that’s defensive on his mimic or human side Arthur can’t tell. ‘Just to remind you,’ Eames adds helpfully, ‘I can kneecap you before you make it to the knife, and definitely before you can get your gun. And if you try to come after me, I’ll vanish before you can blink.’

Arthur frowns at him. ‘I’m not going to shoot you because you’re a mimic.’

Eames laughs disbelievingly. ‘That’s not what I’ve heard. What about Florian in Marseilles? And you always check everyone.’

Arthur feels both hurt and irritated. ‘I check because I want to know what I’m getting into, not because I shoot on sight. And I shot Florian because he had a basement full of Shade jars.’

‘Hmm.’ Eames looks like he’s considering Arthur's answer, and this is all well and good but Arthur would quite like not to be shot wearing just a towel, if being shot is on the menu.

‘Look, do you mind if I get dressed while you make your mind up?’

Eames’s eyebrows raise a little in surprise as he glances at Arthur's towel, as though he’s not noticed Arthur’s mostly undressed state, and that’s an unexpected blow to the ego. ‘By all means, darling. But stay away from the bed and the safe.’ To be sure he goes to sit on the bed again, blocking the knife from Arthur's view. 

Arthur crosses the room to his suitcase and pulls on underwear and pants. ‘Thanks,’ he throws over his shoulder. ‘My sister would never let me live it down if I got shot in a towel.’

Eames blinks. ‘I’m not going to shoot you. It would be a bit mean spirited of me, don’t you think?’  
‘A bit,’ Arthur agrees, and Eames nods. 

‘Right, that’s settled, neither of us is going to shoot the other. Well, I suppose that leaves my evening free.’

Arthur feels a twitch of amusement and speaks before he can think. ‘Want to get a drink then? In the name of not shooting each other,’ he continues hurriedly, when Eames looks a little nonplussed.

‘Alright,’ Eames says eventually. ‘But can we get something to eat first? I’m famished.’

‘Sure.’ Arthur’s more than a little relieved that Eames isn’t laughing at the idea. ‘I’ll just finish getting dressed.’

‘If you must, darling,’ Eames says casually as he makes for the door. ‘Though I was enjoying the view.’ The hotel door closes behind him, and Arthur is left holding his shirt and blinking in surprise. 

_Huh,_ he thinks, slightly disconnected. _Guess he did notice after all._


End file.
